


Can't Make You Like Me

by orphan_account



Category: Deadpool (Comics), Spider-Man (Movieverse)
Genre: M/M, Spideypool - Freeform, break-up fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-26
Updated: 2012-10-26
Packaged: 2017-11-17 01:51:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/546323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Are you serious?"</p>
<p>"I'm serious about a lot of things," says Wade. "Hygiene, pancakes, the correct way to heat a chimichanga."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can't Make You Like Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jessicamiriamdrew](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessicamiriamdrew/gifts).



"Are you serious?"

Peter's voice is hard, and angry. Wade doesn't flinch when he hears it, but he feels a roll of guilt in his stomach. He tries to act naturally enough though, when he turns around to look at him.

"I'm serious about a lot of things," says Wade. "Hygiene, pancakes, the correct way to heat a chimichanga."

Peter's holding up his phone, and the screen is glowing blue. Wade can see that it's open to his messenger.

He looks away.

"You tried to break up with me over a _text message._ Seriously, Wade? Are you that fucking juvenile?"

"Don't talk to me about juvenile, _kiddo._ You're what, half my age?   _Less_ than half?"

"Oh like that stopped you," he shoves his phone into his little backpack. Wade sighs. He had planned on being out of the city before Peter had caught up to him. No such luck perhaps. He supposes he should have done it on the plane while he was flying across the Atlantic. [You wanted to say good-bye.] (Sentimental fool.)

_Shut up, for once just shut up._

"What the hell, Wade. We're good. A good thing. So why now?"

"I'm no good for you."

"Yeah, so your text said. That's _bullshit_ , Wade. You're _fine_ for me."

[See? All this drama, no reason for it.] (Well, there could be make-up sex.) [Oooh.]

"Shut up," he mutters.

He turns back to face Peter. He's ripped his mask off, has all the anger of young adulthood welling up through him. Wade sighs, leans against a stack. Wonders when he's going to get punched for everything he was about to say.

"Look, you're just a kid. It was fun while it lasted, but it can't go on forever, Parker."

Peter frowns. "That's bullshit," he says again, closing the gap. "Wade, we're _good_ together. Pancakes at three am, playing Borderlands for hours and, and for fucks sake you got me to watch _Mean Girls_ and now I know like, all the words."

"Yeah, that's real love," says Wade with a sneer. "And how long before some of my other activities start to seem okay? How long before I suck you dry and turn you into me?"

Peter swallows. Wade knew he was remembering a dicey moment with a criminal a few weeks before. Yeah, he'd let the guy go, but Wade could feel it. Could _feel_ the urge Peter had had to just take care of the problem. And he knew that that urge came from Wade, was bleeding out of him.

He couldn't be responsible for that.

[Sure you could.] (Easy.)

"And how about the fact that you've been trying to clean up _your_ act?" asks Peter. "How are you so sure that's not me rubbing off on you?"

Wade swallows. "I'm about to fly to Moscow and kill about ten people," he counts on his fingers, "yeah, ten. And I'm supposed to leave a message with it." He grins. "So I guess you're really not rubbing off on me at all."

[Ooh, that sounded like a _lie._ ] (You sly thing.)

_Shut up._

Truth was, it's only one person, and it's supposed to be quick and efficient. Wade has no problem with it. But this was what Peter needs - to believe there was nothing left inside of him. Like it hasn't been fucking tearing him up since he hit _send,_ and he'd been too much of a coward to do that shit face to face.

Peter looks sad, then, like somehow it's all coming together, and Wade knows that only a few more words will snap everything.

"Pete, you're just a kid. I feel guilty, leading you on. But you know it's not real. None of it is."

Peter's face goes dark. "None, huh?"

"Yeah. None. Just fucking. Sorry I lead you on. There's too many voices in here to have room for a heart. There won't be any white picket fence or little fucking golden retriever running around. Sorry to disappoint."

[He's ours.] (Don't be a fool.)

His phone beeps. He glances at it. Everything is ready to go, and he'll be out of the country for a few weeks. More, depending on how many jobs he can find before he has to come back to America, and even then he doubts he's going anywhere near New York.

"See ya, Petey. Have fun web-slinging."

"Fuck you, Wade," says Peter, his face drawn, and Wade has to fight down the urge to tell him he's lying and he still wants this, but then Peter's gone and Wade's left standing there.

He sighs. Has a plane to catch.


End file.
